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Paper liked the idea of parties, spending the evening with your friends while having food and drinks sounds like a great time, but why was the execution always horrible? He had tried to get away from the loud music and bright lights, but that was nearly impossible with how small of a room it was being hosted in. The worst part was that he couldn’t even leave, he had to help OJ supervise, make sure no one gets hurt. He swore the lights were getting brighter somehow. How does anyone have fun in this situation?
Paper eventually found a corner of the room that was marginally quieter from the rest, and sat down. Why did he feel like everyone was surrounding him? They all acted so differently when they were drunk, it was scaring him. He tried closing his eyes and covering his ears, but that did nothing. Then he started clawing at his arms, hoping the physical pain would distract him. If anything, that only made it worse. Everything was too much. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even think. The only thing he could do was curl up into a ball and cry. His arms felt like they were on fire. He just wanted everything to stop.
Paper didn’t know when, but he thought the music had gotten quieter. He also wasn’t aggressively hugging his legs anymore, instead, his body was spread out across something. Had he fallen asleep? No, there’s no way anyone could fall asleep in those conditions. He heard a door open and close, and there was no longer light getting in through his closed eyes. It was completely silent now. He was now sitting on something soft, and he pulled his knees into his chest. He didn’t dare open his eyes. What if, when he did, the blinding lights and deafening music came back? He couldn’t risk it.
Then, the silence was broken. Not by loud music Paper didn’t know the lyrics to, but by a song that always managed to ground him, no matter how much distress he was in. His breathing started to even out, and he had the courage to open his eyes.
When he did, he wasn’t met by bright lights and loud sounds, nor was he surrounded by dozens of people. He was in his room, the only light being the halo surrounding the door and a sliver of moonlight from the window, the only sound being the music and his breathing. The only other person around was OJ.
“Hey,” OJ spoke in a tone of voice barely above a whisper, as to not startle his already-overwhelmed boyfriend. “You okay, hun?”
“I’m sorry.”
OJ looked confused when he heard that response. Tears pricked the corners of Paper’s eyes, threatening to spill.
“Why are you apologising?” OJ asked, carefully taking Paper’s hand.
“I s-should be able to take care of m-myself,” Paper choked out between sobs, “H-How stupid d-do I have to b-b-be that I can’t even-”
OJ carefully took both of Paper’s hands, massaging circles into them until Paper stopped crying.
“You’re not stupid, it’s ok to need help.”
“...Can I have a hug?”
“Of course.”
Paper was pulled into a firm hug, which he gladly melted into. It was a welcome difference to what the rest of the night had been like.